Honey, Make Me Healthy
by Aleois
Summary: Hanahaki disease is an illness borne from unrequited love. Petals bloom in the chest, their roots threading through every inch and around every vein, filling every crevice and feeding on blood and flesh until they spill into the lung and strangle the heart. Lance spends the morning bent over the toilet, pastel blue flowers spilling from his lips and staining the water beneath him


A/N; I saw something on tumblr about Hanahaki disease, but couldn't find many fics about it, so I decided to write one myself. You can find the playlist used to write this on the AO3 version of this fic where I am under the same pen name. Find this and all my other writings, including drabbles that never get published elsewhere, on my tumblr at langstlordaleois.

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Hanahaki disease is an illness borne from unrequited love. Petals bloom in the chest, their roots threading through every inch and around every vein, filling every crevice and feeding on blood and flesh until they spill into the lung and strangle the heart.

Lance spends the morning bent over the toilet, pastel blue flowers spilling from his lips and staining the water beneath him red.

He's surprised to see the petals floating in the bowl, their soft blue splattered and stained with the crimson red of his blood, torn free from the skin of his throat as the petals forced their way up, stems ripping and tearing the delicate flesh as they moved. But Lance isn't stupid. He knows what this is, understands the reason behind the flowers forcing their way through his throat. A quiet laugh shakes his body, a laugh that quickly turns into sobs as he sinks to the floor, hands pressed to his mouth in an attempt to stay quiet. Hunk's room is right next to the bathroom, and Lance doesn't want to think about his best friends reaction if he found him lying on the floor, bloodstained petals all around him like some sort of macabre art piece.

Lance has Hanahaki disease.

He knows why they're there, though, had felt the warm embrace of new love blossom in his chest, a little more every time he looked at Keith. He had hoped he would have more time before his crush turned into love, but of course he wouldn't be so lucky. He had probably loved Keith for far longer than he had realised. He shouldn't be surprised he had fallen in love with Keith. After all, who else would would hurt so much to love?

He makes it three days before Hunk grows suspicious. Lance plays it off as something he ate disagreeing with him, and Hunk buys it. Lance sighs, but the feeling of relief in his chest is soured as his stomach rolls, and he spends the next hour in the bathroom, flushing bowl after bowl of blue petals dyed crimson.

He makes it five days before he throws up flowers all over Keith's lap.

The hospital is a sea of white, bland and lifeless, the air around them sterile and stale. They're waiting on a doctor, Lance curled up on a bed in a ball, making himself as small as possible while Hunk's hand rubs circles on his back and Keith's finger burn a hole in Lance's palm.

By the time they get him to the hospital, it's almost too late. The flowers in his chest have grown, roots already tangled around his organs. Lance winces at the doctors words and rubs at his chest. Somewhere in the cavity where his vital organs were stored, flowers were blooming. Soft blue petals wrapping around his rib cage, growing in size until they would eventually strangle his heart and fill his lungs. Clogging up his insides and filling every empty cavity inside him where the love he wished for would never reach.

He refuses the surgery.

Hunk is a mess, all tears and kind words even as he tries to reassure Lance through his own worry. Keith is much less understanding. He is anger and rage and burning wildfire and he doesn't understand why Lance won't just get the operation, there's a chance it'll work so why won't he? Lance just gives him a small, tired smile and turns away.

It's been a week, and Lance is much worse. Hunk is over every day, usually with Pidge in tow. The youngest of their group doesn't ask any questions, just takes his hand and says, "I know."

Keith refuses to leave the room.

That fact makes Lance smile even as it burns. He can't come up with a single memory that doesn't have Keith in it somewhere, and the burning in his chest moves to his throat and he throws himself back over the bed, tears running down his cheeks and mingling with the blood and flowers tearing their way from his mouth and into the pan. It feels like someone is choking him, pale fingers of an invisible hand wrapping around his neck and restricting his airway until there isn't enough room to breath. The dead petals stare up at him, their beautiful blue taunting in their innocence.

Of course they would be forget-me-not's.

It's been nine days when Keith realises. "I'm sorry," he says, voice strained as he fights against tears. "I'm so sorry. I-I can't-" Lance reaches up, covers Keith's mouth with his hand. "Why?" Keith asks when Lance pulls away. Lance shrugs, gives him a sad smile.

"Why not?"

On the tenth day, Lance's throat hurts too much to speak, so Keith fills the silence. "I would still be alone if it weren't for you," he says, voice quite as his fingers grip Lance's hand. "You...You found me when I was lost in the darkness, and you brought the light back to my life." It's the most poetic thing Lance has ever heard Keith say, and he'd make fun of him if he didn't feel like throwing up. So he stays quiet, and lets Keith talk. He talks about a broken teen, lost in the world, found by a boy made of stars and sun and light all superglued together into this single being with legs much too long for his body.

Lance feels like someone's shoved a gun down his throat and pulled the trigger. Oh the irony. Weren't they meant to be bulletproof?

Two days later Keith realises something.

"I love you," he says, but the words sound hollow, an emptiness behind them that echoes in his eyes. It's true, but they both know it's too late. "Believe me when I say that I truly did believe we'd be soulmates."

Lance laughed at Keith's words, a small, feeble sound that took more effort than it should have. "But we are. It just took a bit too long to figure out this time around. Maybe in another life." Lance smiled reaching out with a weak hand to touch the side of Keith's face.

Keith marvels at how strong Lance is, even now. A brave face with light words to mask the truth. Keith says as much, but Lance just shrugs. "We're both so fucked up, you know?"

Keith smiles, turning his head to kiss the palm of Lance's hand. "How do win?"

"We don't," he says simply, and Keith has to fight the tears that threaten to spill at those words spoken so casually. He moves from his chair and climbs into the bed beside Lance, pulling the frail boys head into his chest. Lance sighs and a cough wracks his body. Keith just holds him tight, ignores the blue and red decorating his lips as he leans down and presses his own against Lance's. He can feel the cool moisture of tears running down his cheeks and mixing with the flowers in his lap, but he can't tell if they belong to him or Lance.

When Keith awakens the next morning, it's to find the body curled against him cold and unmoving. There is an unnatural stillness to Lance, his usually tanned skin a sickly pale, even with the morning sun filtering through the blinds and draping him in a soft glow. A choked sob forces its way through Keith's lips, and soon he's crying, heaving sobs wracking his body as he wails. He pulls Lance to him, pressing his lips to every inch of Lance's face, crying and wailing as unintelligible words fall from his mouth. Please, please, no. I'll love you, I'll love you, **I love you!**

The nurses who bring Hunk and Pidge to visit find him like that, tears streaming down his face as he cradles Lance close, the two of them surrounded by bloodstained blue.

Keith vaguely registers the others in the room, and a small part of his mind thinks that this is the first time he's ever seen Pidge cry.

Lance would hate it.

The funeral is grim despite the bright colours everywhere. Sunflowers and peonies and lilies are accented by flowers of every colour of the rainbow, but Keith thinks they just make Lance's still form stand out even more. Someone put a small bouquet of forget-me-not's in Lance's hands, and Keith can't help the dark chuckle at the irony, even as he feels like throwing up at the sight. He turns away, moving quickly through the crowd to the first empty room he can find as the itch in his chest moves up, and suddenly Keith is coughing, so harsh he's forced to his knees as the pain tears through his throat. When the coughing finally ceases and he's able to stand again, he pulls his hands from his mouth, glazed eyes staring as the dark red of his blood mixes with the pale blue of the moon flowers that slip through his fingers.


End file.
